


Skip the Tell (Let's Just Show)

by rainshatteredsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Groping, M/M, Making Out, Off-screen Relationship(s), Original song lyrics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Relationship(s), Rimming, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainshatteredsky/pseuds/rainshatteredsky
Summary: How did a kid that started a stupid band with his best friend go from being a suburban loser to an international sensation?
Kuroo Tetsurou is living the dream and is still wondering when he's going to wake up. He's sort of hoping he doesn't though, because now he has a supermodel-actor for a lover and thousands of adoring fans. It's a little too easy to settle into a lifestyle this rich, so when he glimpses two angels in Las Angeles (ironically enough) it shakes up his whole (new) world.





	1. And We Got Plenty of Time

“You ready?”

Kuroo turned his head to look over his shoulder at the beautiful actor just a few paces behind him. He chuckled a bit, pleased when his guest’s expression changed from one of pensive contemplation to mild amusement. Oikawa was always too tense, or so Kuroo thought. He’d been in entertainment since childhood, so maybe he knew something about the business Kuroo didn’t, but staging a photo op for the paparazzi really wasn’t a big deal to him at this point. Having spent several months on the road touring already, he was fairly certain he knew what he was doing.

“Of course. Did Mr. Naoi give you any specifics?” Oikawa pushed his brown glasses up further on his nose from where they’d been sliding down, Kuroo’s eyes following the movement of his hand. Oikawa really was gorgeous, perfectly proportional with the looks of an angel. He took his career to the next level a while back when he began acting alongside his print and runway gigs, but secretly, Kuroo bemoaned the fact that accepting more movie roles meant fewer pictures of his lover halfway (or sometimes fully) naked. 

“He was pretty vague, actually. As in, ‘Make it look intimate, but not explicitly homoerotic’ type vague,” Kuroo replied, forcing himself to meet Oikawa’s gaze instead of focusing on how his lips were impossibly perfect in both size and shape. 

“Hm, well okay.” Oikawa sighed as if this was the biggest inconvenience he’d ever faced, though Kuroo knew better than to fall for it. For a nominated actor (no wins, but Kuroo knew better than to mention that) he was absolute shit at hiding things from people who actually knew him. “We’ll go by the doors to the balcony off the hallway, the one with the sliding glass. I’ll have my coat on- wait, no, one of your coats and act like we’re saying goodbye. I’ll be at your show tonight, but they don’t know that, so we’ll make a big deal about ‘Faraway Friends’ or ‘Lost Lovers’ or however they want to spin it.”

“Sounds good,” Kuroo agreed, shoooting his manager a quick text. “So… can we make out now, or what? It’s going to take a few minutes for my people on the ground to wrangle all the fans and cameras to the right side of the building.”

“I literally just blew you, can you keep it in your pants for like one second?” Oikawa shook his head in mock disappointment. “And anyway, the terrace overlooks the left side of the building.”

Kuroo grinned widely and spread his hands, not offended in the least. “C’mon now, it’s been months since I’ve been in L.A. and even longer than that since we’ve seen each other. Do you not love me anymore, Your Highness?”

Oikawa took a step forward into Kuroo’s arms, but not until he made a big show of rolling his eyes in exacerbation first. “That really is a stupid nickname but, mm.” He trailed off, lifting his head and looking up at Kuroo with the most sinfully beautiful eyes that Kuroo felt his knees grow weak. “I don’t mind it coming from you, if it means I’m your king.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Kuroo replied as he wrapped his arms tightly around the slender man’s waist., making Oikawa pout even as he leaned in closer. “I think princess suits you better, since you like being my bitch so much.” 

Kuroo heard Oikawa’s breath hitch just a second before he was being pulled down by the collar into a searing hot kiss. His lips were so soft, tasting of spearmint (whether gum or toothpaste, Kuroo wasn’t sure) and he wanted more. Oikawa had one hand on his strong bicep, bracing himself, and the other had slid behind Kuroo’s neck to deepen the kiss. He parted his lips first and Kuroo followed his lead, content to let the other man set the pace. He tilted his head more, pressing close to Oikawa and letting out a small groan as he felt a hot tongue slide across his own. 

Kuroo used his weight advantage to slam Oikawa against the counter in the hotel room’s kitchen, causing the model to make a sound that could’ve been pain but was unmistakably pleasure. He would probably have a bruise on his lower back (Kuroo knew how sensitive Oikawa’s skin was from experience) but didn’t seem to care right then, manicured nails scraping at Kuroo’s back through his clothes. He released Oikawa’s waist and broke their kiss, a string of saliva falling from the other boy’s lips. Oikawa opened his eyes blearily, looking a bit confused as to why Kuroo had stopped, but his questions dissolved into a moan when Kuroo began to nip at his neck, just under his jaw and right over his throbbing pulse point. 

He bent his knees a bit, lips sliding down Oikawa’s neck to compensate, and lifted the model. Used to this, Oikawa’s legs wrapped around Kuroo’s hips and his arms around his neck as he was seated on the cold marble. Kuroo was now sucking on his collarbone, the brunette sliding his hands into Kuroo’s messy hair and tugging, earning him a hot moan against his skin.

Kuroo kissed his way up Oikawa’s neck to his perfect jawline where he stilled, breathing hot and heavy against the tanned skin. Oikawa fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable, and glancing down, Kuroo acknowledged that he had every right to be. He was sporting a rather impressive bulge, which Kuroo immediately cupped and began massaging the heel of his hand over as Oikawa threw his his head back, neck decorated with beautiful pink marks from aggressive lips and teeth. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips bucking up against Kuroo’s hand. “We can’t do this right now. The picture!” His protests were weak however, and his body betrayed him when Kuroo twisted a hard nipple through his thin cotton shirt. Oikawa’s back arched so much so that he ended up sinking back against the counter, leaving him on his back with his shirt hiked up and his legs still tightly crossed behind Kuroo’s back, pulling him in tighter despite what he had just said. He panted as Kuroo chuckled, leaning down over him.

“You’re right, we don’t have much time,” Kuroo acknowledged half heartedly. “But I didn’t get to have my breakfast yet.” He reached behind himself, unclasping Oikawa’s legs and laying them over his shoulders. Oikawa, who caught on quickly, lifted his hips so Kuroo could peel his tighter-than-hell leather pants down his legs. 

“Arms above your head,” ordered Kuroo quietly, a strange half smile on his face that made Oikawa follow his direction without question, shuddering silently. Kuroo kneeled on the floor in front of the low counter between Oikawa’s legs, pleased at the view. The model was clean shaven, as usual, and looked so delicious it hurt. He used the flat of his tongue to swipe over Oikawa’s asshole, pinning his hands with one hand and using the other to part his cheeks to get better access. 

Oikawa positively writhed, and his legs curled tight around Kuroo, trying to get his face closer to his burning body. Kuroo maintained a slow pace though, probing around his lover’s entrance with little kitten licks that made Oikawa squirm as he rubbed his cock with the hand he’d used to spread him earlier. He dipped the tip of his tongue into Oikawa’s opening, pleased when the other man seemed to push back against him. Moving a bit higher, Kuroo licked at his perineum, which caused him to outright squeal from the stimulation. He went back to softly teasing his rim, bringing Oikawa back down a bit, not wanting him to reach orgasm yet. 

When he thought Oikawa was ready for some more, he once again moved back up, this time laving his tongue over a baby soft patch of skin under his balls that was so sensitive this action made the model positively shriek. The sound was purely pornographic, and part of the reason everyone who’d ever slept with Oikawa thought he could make even more money than he already did if he got into the adult film industry. Kuroo carefully sucked at his balls, his thumb running over the head of his cock, dragging over the slit for precome to make the motion easier.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa panted, causing him to look up from his ministrations. “I’m close.”

Kuroo began to pump his hand a little faster, twisting it up and down the model’s perfect shaft. Everything about Oikawa was perfect, even his cock, and he looked particularly beautiful when he orgasmed too. Kuroo decided he’d deprived himself of the sight long enough and picked up the pace, sucking on the head as he jacked him off.

It didn’t take long for him to cum, the slightly bitter fluid flooding Kuroo’s mouth. Oikawa collapsed back on the countertop, completely fucked out of his mind, legs releasing Kuroo. He stood up slowly, one foot asleep from kneeling on it for so long, and grabbed a napkin to spit into. He walked to the aluminum trashcan, stepped on the pedal a little harder than strictly necessary (he found the banging sound it made somehow pleasing), and threw it out before returning to his lover who hadn’t moved. He grabbed some Kleenex, gently cleaning up his hypersensitive partner as best he could, before giving Oikawa a little shake.

“Sit up,” he said, slipping a hand under his back to help Oikawa upright. “Feeling okay?” Once he was certain Oikawa could hold himself up, he went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of cold water.  
“For now? Yeah,” Oikawa said with a little snicker, accepting the offered water and tilting his head back as he drained half the bottle in one go. “Check in tomorrow at my photoshoot.” He didn’t look mad (and God, how could he? Kuroo could seriously eat ass, and he knew it) but it was true his manager would likely be very unhappy about the various hickeys scattered about.

“Sorry,” Kuroo replied, clearly not sorry at all. “Speaking of photos, don’t we still need to deal with the paparazzi outside?”

Oikawa shook his head in exasperation. “Yes, yes we do,” he replied impatiently. Glancing over at the microwave display to check the time, he gave a heavily exaggerated sigh. “And you’re going to be late for tech run if we don’t in the next ten minutes. Actually, you’re already late, but then you’d be really late. Honestly, how irresponsible of you, Tetsu,” he teased.

Kuroo laughed at that, taking his lover’s hand to help him down from the counter. As Oikawa fixed himself back into his jeans, Kuroo took the opportunity to fondly brush his fingers through his soft chestnut hair. “Okay, remind me of the plan again? I give you a jacket, we’re walking past the balcony, and then we do something ‘intimate but not homoerotic’?”

“Pretty much,” replied the actor, using the reflection of the chrome fridge to fix up his appearance. He turned to Kuroo, who hadn’t bothered fixing much of anything (least of all his hair- it was a lost cause, but you had to give Oikawa props for trying) and did his best to straighten him up too.

“Let’s just hold hands, stop in front of the window like we’re talking, and then I’ll kiss you on the cheek. Sound good?” Oikawa asked, surveying Kuroo and deeming him presentable. He definitely still seemed a bit mussed, but Oikawa probably figured that hey, maybe that would play into the whole mostly-true gay affair story.

“So long as I get a better kiss in the elevator,” Kuroo replied, smirking. Oikawa turned away fast, but Kuroo still caught the smile that graced his lips. He grabbed his favorite jacket, black leather of course, threw it over Oikawa’s shoulders, and let the other man lead him out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly showtime, and Kuroo couldn't have been more ready to get out there in front of the crowd. Bokuto, his bandmate, was jumping around backstage, hooting and hollering as he went through his bizarre pump up ritual. Kuroo, as well as the rest of the stage crew, wisely avoided the overexcited man-child. Anyone in his way would either be crushed under the weight of his overbearing enthusiasm and forced unwillingly to join in, or trigger a complete emotional breakdown as a result of 'killing the vibe’. Neither of those two results were desirable to quite literally anyone in the vicinity, so they all gave him a wide, wide berth and hoped it would be over soon. At least he was wearing headphones this time; if they had to listen to that Seven Nation Army remix one more time, Kuroo suspected there'd be a mutiny among the staff.

His earpiece crackled with static before a quiet voice cut through. It was his 'assistant’, Kenma, who didn't exactly perform the usual duties associated with his job title. He was very much so their behind the scenes magic maker and miracle worker, able to fix any technological or logistic problem before anyone even noticed anything was wrong. He was also Kuroo's childhood best friend and his… something or other. Kuroo didn't know exactly what kind of relationship (or lack of) they had, but he didn't really care either; Kenma was Kenma, and also the brains behind this entire operation.

“We're sold out, and it's almost nine,” Kenma told him. Another person might have said that sentence impatiently (as the implication was that they were behind schedule) but Kenma's voice was as quiet and even as ever as he laid down simple facts. “Is Bokuto done with his dance yet?”

Kuroo glanced over at his friend (his strange, strange friend whom he loved dearly but did not understand in the least) who was shaking his ass and attempting to hop up and down at the same time. He chuckled softly and replied, “I think we have about thirty more seconds. Should we start moving into positions?”

“Yes,” came the immediate reply, and Kuroo could hear fingertips tapping rapidly on a keyboard. “Cueing the lights now, the announcement will be in exactly sixty seconds.” Kenma paused, but Kuroo was still listening intently. “Break a leg, Tetsurou.”

“Thanks,” Kuroo replied, eyes now now focused on the stage from his viewpoint in the wings. Bokuto, satisfied with his warm up, was at the opposite wing, ready to make the first pass. He quickly switched off the microphone connected to his earpiece so he wouldn't permanently damage Kenma's hearing just as a voice called out over the roar of the crowd, asking everyone to welcome them.

Bokuto went first because he always went first. He'd always had an affinity for parkour, and it looked absolutely sick when he came out in his muscles tee and ripped jeans and did a wall run back flip off a structure built specifically for this purpose. Sometimes, if the venue staff needed more time because of a technical issue, Kenma would tell Bokuto (who also had an earpiece, though he was forever messing with it) to do some more tricks. They'd blast some techno music (probably mixed by Bokuto himself) while the problems were sorted out. The fans adored these routines, Bokuto enjoyed the attention, and it kept everything running smoothly. That day, though, he only got in that first trick and a palm spin over a table used to support projection equipment (even though he'd been told many times not to do that in case he damaged something; the team had given up on chastising him and settled for crossing their fingers).

He finished just stage right of center and did a strange, almost Michael Jackson-esque hip sway and gave finger guns in Kuroo's direction, drawing both the spotlight and the crowds attention to him as the singer jogged out waving with his hand above his head. The other held a microphone at his side, so loosely that it actually looked haphazard. He was way more reserved than Bokuto (both on and off stage) but as the adrenaline rush of being in front of a crowd swept through him, he knew he'd be giving it his all on this one. After all, L.A. was technically his home city, or at least the major city closest to where he'd grown up.

“Hey, hey L.A.!” Bokuto yelled, having taken his place on the second level platform that held his drum set, sound mixers, the looping software and of course, his mic. “Let's hear you make some noise!”

Bokuto was excellent at getting crowds excited, his naturally infectious moods playing a huge roll in that. This, along with his surprising amount of knowledge about sound technology, made him a fairly popular DJ and emcee when they weren't touring. Kuroo counted his lucky stars when he thought about how he had almost brushed off Bokuto's seemingly spur of the moment determination to form a musical group, because had he not taken the chance, man would he have missed out.

Kuroo took his place, splitting center stage with Bokuto on his left. He had a mic stand, which he immediately took advantage of even though he had to raise it (Jesus, no matter where they played, everyone always seemed to think he was short or really short because they were never set at an average height). He held up his right hand, the left going to his hip where he hooked his thumb through the belt loop of his ripped black jeans. The crowd quieted some but buzzed nervously with anticipation as he closed his eyes and froze in place for a good twenty seconds. 

His eyes snapped open and he whipped his head to the side as Bokuto started up the drum beat to their most popular song, 'Flow’. The lyrics came in eight bars later and Kuroo was ready, more than ready.

Verse 1:  
You must be enjoying my waves  
I see you rocking hard out there  
Float on by, now don't be shy  
You have the prize I crave   
Silky skin and long soft hair  
I will eat you alive

Chorus:  
Let's flow like the ocean   
Race like a river  
Soar through the clouds  
I feel you shiver  
Romance for eternity  
Balanced in perfect harmony   
Won't you come along with me?

Verse 2:  
In my arms I hold you tight   
Bathing in the beaming moon  
Silence in the sea of night   
But requests come much too soon  
“Never leave me, never stray.”  
I say okay, but never stay

Bridge:  
My time here is done  
All the songs have been sung   
Beauty is fickle, as flighty as you   
And once I'm gone you'll move on too

Chorus:   
We flowed like the ocean   
Raced like a river  
Soared through the clouds  
Fucked as two sinners  
Some things are meant to be  
Bodies in perfect harmony   
But melodies fall flat, you see-  
No use stealing once you have the key

The songs Kuroo wrote were admittedly rather rude, but that’s what the fans wanted. His managers (a beautiful girl named Kiyoko and her trainee Hitoka, business and personal respectively) frowned upon cussing, but Kiyoko had told him more than once that audience approval came before her personal tastes. So he didn’t hold back much, but he did try to keep in mind that if he wanted to be aired on the radio he would have to write ‘clean’ versions too- or have few enough infractions to get away with censoring only a word or two. The latter was much easier, and because Kuroo was very much a lazy ass, that’s usually the route he took. 

They had chosen a relatively short set list for this tour because it was their first and everyone expected to run into trouble depending on the venue. But at this stop, Kenma and the other backstage crew members had kept the show moving so smoothly, they had finished the entire twelve song concert with a good ten or fifteen minutes of leeway. 

Just as the final chord of “Bloodied Feet and Hardened Soles (Souls)” was fading, Kuroo heard a telltale crackle (he’d have to remind Kenma to stop breathing on the mic later, it was extremely distracting and liable to mess with his performing headspace). 

“Kuroo, Bokuto, you’re ahead of schedule for once. Pull a fan or two up onstage, it’ll be good for your homecoming tabloid.” 

Kuroo turned his head to look at Bokuto, who grinned at him, grabbed his mic from where it was by the drumset, and recklessly jumped from his platform to land dangerously close to Kuroo. Even though the crowd gasped, he didn’t flinch because he had no doubt that Bo could have made that leap in his sleep.

“So L.A., what do ya say? Was he on fire or what?” Bokuto yelled, clapping Kuroo on the shoulder. The crowd cheered and Kuroo smirked, giving them time to settle down. He made an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes and shaking his head in a parody of modesty, leaning toward the crowd while still angled in Bokuto’s direction.

“Nah, you far outdid me Bo… but remember to actually make music next time!” Kuroo threw his head back and laughed, while his bro just cracked a goofy grin and launched himself into a spontaneous back tuck. They ragged on each other like this even offstage, so it felt like they were showing the audience a peek into their private lives. But Kuroo couldn’t dwell on that idea, because he could picture Kenma tapping a nonexistent watch on his wrist- the right wrist, which is the wrong wrist- impatiently, and he didn’t want to disappoint the overworked little guy.

“Alright, so we’ve got a surprise for y’all tonight!” Bokuto cheered, holding up his mic as if he were fist pumping. “Who here knows all the words to ‘Hang On, Hoarse’?” Kuroo was scanning the first few rows, looking for the perfect fan to grab onto. He needed someone right in their target group (preferably between 19 and 25) and someone who would look as excited as if they’d just won a million bucks; the epitome of a number one fan. He kept searching and finally realized he’d missed a small section of the floor, and was glad he caught his mistake before he'd settled on someone. Right at his feet were two guys probably around the same age as him and Bokuto, if not a little younger. His eyes zeroed in on the freckly one who was cheering and tugging excitedly on his friend’s shirt, but was thrown off his game for just a second by the blond at his side. He was tall, really tall, and when they met eyes, Kuroo was taken aback by how he sneered. He quickly shook his head to clear it and leaned down, extending a hand to the cute brunette.

“Come on up here, cutie!” Kuroo called, watching as the kid’s eyes widened until they were practically the size of dinner plates. The blond, who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to leave, grudgingly gave his friend a boost as the crowd around them yelled. Kuroo winked at the stranger in thanks, but was completely ignored in a nonchalant way that he would have to contemplate later. “What’s your name?”

“T-Tadashi!” the boy yelped, and the audience giggled as he turned a shade of pink. Kuroo led him by the hand to Bokuto who stood center stage, grinning. Kuroo kissed Tadashi on the cheek before passing him over to Bokuto who enveloped him in a bear hug. Their guest had gone from cutely pink to a fairly alarming shade of red as both he and Bokuto slung an arm around his shoulder. Kuroo leaned forward to speak into the mic on the stand without letting go.

“Where are you from?” he asked, looking to his left at Tadashi who responded so loudly, Kuroo didn’t even have to repeat it into the mic. There was no mistaking the pride he took in being Los Angeles born and bred.

“Well, we have a challenge for our precious angel here. You guys think he can do it?” The crowd roared again and Bokuto vaulted back up to his set up, while Kuroo waved at someone from the wings to hand Tadashi a microphone. “You said you know ‘Hang On Hoarse’?” The reply was mumbled, so he cupped a hand around his ear. “If I can’t hear you, no one else can. Into the mic sweetie, do you know our ‘Hoar’?”

The audience laughed at the innuendo (as immature as it was) but that just made the slender kid stand up taller. “Yeah. Yeah I do!” Kuroo laughed and the audience (plus Bokuto) ooh’d, but despite looking a little embarrassed, Tadashi stuck to his guns. This filled Kuroo with an odd sense of pride, glad that the kid had overcome some of his nervousness, but unsure why he actually cared that much. 

“Alright, alright! Then let’s play a game. I’ll sing the first line, you the second, and then me the third and so on… but Bokuto sings the chorus!” 

“Hey, no fair!” came a yell from above their heads, which Kuroo waved off without turning around. The audience laughed, and Kuroo smiled widely at their visitor on stage.

“I’m really bad at this game,” Kuroo lied (how could that be true? He wrote the damn thing!) “Let’s see how you do! Hit it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who left me feedback on the first chapter! It is very much appreciated.
> 
> The main plot/relationships will begin to take off starting in the next update! Please let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

Unfortunately for him, Kuroo had greatly underestimated his challenger. The kid was good, making up for any lack of talent with surprising enthusiasm, and it didn’t help that Bokuto kept increasing the speed either. He had been keeping up okay until they got to the bridge when he stumbled over, of all possible things, “N. Y. City, ” and instead sang “N. Y. C. City.” 

The second he slipped up, he made a priceless face that he prayed no one had caught on film. Any remaining chance of playing it off so no one would notice was immediately squashed by Bokuto, who cut the music backing with a cliche turntable sound effect and a loud, “Oh ho ho, seems like we’ve got a winner, folks!” 

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, his eyes half lidded as he tossed his head back and chuckled sheepishly. “Looks like you got me, angelito mío,” he said amicably, dropping his hand and shooting Tadashi a side glance. He might have been embarrassed that his serpent tongue failed him, but the kid was so cute he was amused rather than annoyed. His little nose sprinkled with freckles scrunched up, and Kuroo was satisfied by the flush that had taken over the tanned complexion of his official biggest fan. 

“Kuroo,” said a voice in his ear, a reliable yet slightly bothersome presence that Kuroo nonetheless loved. “You can wrap it up now.” 

Kuroo’s expression didn’t change as the message was relayed, but he looked up at Bokuto, locked eyes, and gave his head a small jerk. It was amazing how well they could read other, because the bulky DJ immediately signaled to someone in the wings. The stage went dark, Kuroo, Tadashi now vague silhouettes. As was tradition, a special ending mix phased in and Bokuto thanked the crowd and the venue. 

Once his vision had adjusted, Kuroo took the advantage of the dim light to help Tadashi off the stage and back into the audience. The tall boy who had been with him earlier was there as if he’d been anticipating the action and basically caught his giddy friend and set him down before impatiently winding his way through the crowd as if he had somewhere better to be. The kid chased after him, with one last longing look at Kuroo before he took off.

He sensed more than heard Bokuto’s track starting its fade, and got up from where he’d been crouching and confidently made his way over to center stage. When the music suddenly surged again, a spotlight trained on Kuroo snapped on, revealing him standing with his back to the audience with his hip cocked, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. He winked, gave a little wave, and was joined by Bokuto who was illuminated by his own spot that flickered to life.

The eccentric musician grinned and yelled “Good night, L.A.! Until next time!” as the crowd erupted in cheers. The lights dimmed slowly this time as Kuroo and Bokuto walked together into the wings, clapping each other on the back and laughing as they always did. 

Staff swarmed around them, removing the earpieces and taking their microphones. Someone pressed a bottle of water into Kuroo’s hand, and he gratefully gulped down a good third of the cool liquid. He never felt tired during the show with all the nervous energy and excitement in the air from the crowd and the adrenaline rush performing gave him, but once he was out of view he tended to fade and fast.

“You in there, Kuroo?” His brain was kicked back into gear by a smooth voice that was definitely nearby, but where, he still didn’t know exactly. He stood there dumbly, a bit dazed as something (later recognized as a towel) was taken from his hand and was being used to dab sweat from his face and defined collarbones. “For crying out loud, are you a child?”

He blinked a few times, rapidly, his spent brain still processing what he was looking at. Eventually his eyes met those of the speaker, and he stared into warm chocolatey eyes that belonged to none other than Oikawa Tooru. “You came?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, practically throwing the dirty rag at a passing Yachi. He clicked his tongue, leaning in close to Kuroo, seemingly indifferent to the heat he radiated. “I told you I would,” he replied, looking a bit put out. “I know I’m a superstar now, but I can spare a little bit of time for my close friend.”

Kuroo, remembering how ‘close’ they had been that morning and noticing their proximity, raised an eyebrow. “Well thank you, oh kingly one, for gracing me with your presence. Any chance you’d consider staying a bit longer? Perhaps for the night?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Oikawa replied mischievously, leaning forward smoothly and pecking Kuroo on the lips so lightly he barely felt it. “My next photoshoot is in Manhattan, tomorrow evening. Your next show is also in New York. So the obvious arrangement is for me to fly out with you tonight, no? After all, Bokuto is going to be a day or two behind you since he’s driving with all his audio stuff, and you’ll need someone to keep you company. Everything’s already taken care of, so what do you say?”

Kuroo broke into a genuine grin, and he laughed heartily. “You’re really something, mister model.”

Oikawa smiled, all perfect white teeth and calculated dimples. “That’s ‘master’ model to you, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo snorted and moved his hand to rest on Oikawa’s waist, tracing over the thin casual shirt he wore. “You don’t want to go there,” he said, his fingertips slipping just below the hem so he could lightly scratch and dig into the other man with his nails. “I wreck you, and you love it.”

Oikawa shrugged a bit, smiling as if he knew something Kuroo didn’t. “I have a surprise for you, actually,” he said, taking a step out of Kuroo’s reach. “And I need to make sure everything is in place. You still have to pack up in the hotel, no? Flight’s not for a few more hours, so we’ll meet then. Good job out there, by the way.”

He shook his head in mock incredulity, a smile playing at the corners of his lips even so. “Aye aye, captain,” he joked, “Good to know I have your approval, now get going so I can get going!”

Oikawa tilted his head back and laughed lightly, then brought his heated gaze to meet Kuroo’s. They held eye contact in silence for a second or two before Oikawa stuck his tongue out like a child and gave him a peace sign. He turned to walk away, hips swaying teasingly, and Kuroo couldn’t help himself: he darted forward the two steps that separated them and gave Oikawa a smart smack on his perfect bubble butt. Oikawa yelped, but Kuroo knew it was just another of the man’s theatrics since a) he hadn’t hit him hard at all and b) he KNEW he was asking for it, moving like that.

Oikawa gave him a faux indignant look over his shoulder, rubbing the spot where Kuroo’s hand had connected. Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh heartily at the sight, and Oikawa glared at him before turning on his heel to stalk off to attend to whatever he thought was so important, he couldn’t trust any of his assistants to handle it.

\---

Kuroo sat in the back of his car, looking out at the lights of the runway. Oikawa had apparently planned this whole affair well before the tour got to L.A., and it seemed as if his entire crew (sans him) had been aware he was flying out that night. Even Bokuto had been told, and while he whined a bit about not being included, it only took a quiet reminder from Kenma that if he flew he would have to let the roadies handle his equipment and a “Don’t you hate planes anyway?” for him to pipe down. 

Next to him, Kenma fixed Kuroo with an intense stare, his oddly colored hair a mess. It probably hadn’t seen a brush that day, since Kenma had to get up at the asscrack of dawn on show days and he was most definitely not a morning person. Bokuto, distracted by some new stage kid examining his precious soundboard, flew away squawking and flapping his arms. This left Kenma and Kuroo alone, or at least as alone as they could be in the middle of such commotion.

Kenma was fidgeting with his hands, having nothing else to occupy them. He was great with rubix cubes and other dexterity puzzles, but his choice distraction was of course his handheld gaming console. It was just a lot easier to bring a small, soundless toy to important meetings than something with flashing lights and music. However, he didn’t have anything to conceal or control the shaking of his hands and it was causing him distress. Kuroo noticed this, and reached out to take Kenma’s hands in his own. He brought the backs of his hands to his lips, bending to place a gentle kiss on each one in turn. It was a nervous tic, and while Kuroo didn’t know what was upsetting him, he knew how to calm him down.

“Is it bad?” he asked, leaning in so he could talk right into Kenma’s ear. His voice was deep and slow, and Kenma subconsciously shifted so he was resting his forehead on Kuroo’s chest, hiding from the world with their hands still clasped between them. Kenma had been dealing with anxiety since they were very young and Kuroo hated seeing him in such a state.

“Not really,” Kenma replied softly, speaking into Kuroo’s shirt. 

“If you need me, I’ll stay and drive out with everyone else,” he offered, letting go of one of Kenma’s hands so he could wrap an arm around his friend. “Screw New York.”

“You don’t mean that,” Kenma said, and it broke Kuroo’s heart. He continued, “You want to go on the trip because it’s new. Anxiety has been a fact of my- our- lives as long as you remember. Even if I begged you not to go, you would wish you did.”

Kenma pulled back a little to look into Kuroo’s face. There was no judgement in his eyes, just a deep seated sadness that no amount of friendship or love had ever been able to touch. He wasn’t being accusatory, simply stating facts that Kuroo could not deny. Kenma had always been as straightforward as he was perceptive, and for a split second, Kuroo hated him for that. 

“Call me if you need me,” Kuroo said finally, lamely, ashamed that he was so transparent. 

“I will,” replied Kenma, but they both knew that was a lie. If he got a call regarding Kenma, it wouldn’t be from his friend, and it wouldn’t be about a situation simple enough that a conversation would make it better. 

A car pulled up next to them, and the chauffeur opened the door for his passenger. Oikawa stepped out, all long legs and toned arms, and Kuroo knew that he would have to be boarding soon- Oikawa Tooru was many things, but more often than not, the word patient didn’t apply to him. 

Kuroo turned to Kenma, who had also looked out the window to see the new arrival. He cupped Kenma’s face, turning him so they were looking right at each other. Kenma’s eyes were huge and beautiful, and Kuroo felt a twinge of guilt that he would be leaving such a vulnerable creature to face the long trip cross country alone. Kenma though, smiled just a little, letting his expression say everything: Be careful. Stay safe. Have fun. I love you.

Kuroo returned the smile, stroking his thumb over Kenma’s cheekbone. He closed the few inches separating them, pressing his lips very gently to Kenma’s. Their lips met and pulled away gently a few times, the motions slow and unhurried. There was no tongue, no desperate grabbing or licking or moaning, but it was still so intimate that time seemed to stall while they were wrapped up together. 

Kenma and Kuroo weren’t together. Never had been, probably never would be. Kuroo knew he loved Kenma, but it wasn’t in the way he felt he should love a significant other. He knew Kenma loved him too, but their bond wasn’t exactly romantic in nature. They cuddled and kissed, watched movies together every Thursday night, and knew everything about each other, but they weren’t dating. They had never had sex, or even come close. Neither of them desired that kind of contact with the other, and while they were closer than two people ought to be capable of, they were just friends. Not even friends with benefits. Just friends who loved each other in their own way. 

They separated, and Kuroo reached for the door handle. His driver was busy loading his luggage, but he was more than capable of getting out of a car on his own. He very gently untangled himself from Kenma and stepped out, pausing just outside the car instead of immediately closing the door. He looked at Kenma one more time, who nodded. Kuroo bit down on the inside of his cheek, raised his hand in farewell, and walked toward the plane without looking back.

\---

Kuroo boarded, and was greeted with the sight of a well lit cabin. It was nice, clean and well furnished, with a few armchairs and two long couches that faced each other. There were flowers and fruit infused water (Oikawa’s request, no doubt) and packages of Kuroo’s favorite brand of potato chips and a bottle of soda on a table to the side. It was a little warm, but he didn’t mind. He could always take off the blazer he’d thrown on over a simple white v-neck after he’d showered back at the hotel. The whole setup was fairly standard, at least where Kuroo’s experience with private flight was concerned, but what wasn’t standard were the two men intertwined on one of the couches and Oikawa booting up his laptop like their weren’t strangers on their plane.

Kuroo dropped down on the couch next to his friend, who didn’t even look up or acknowledge his presence as he dealt with some sort of processing issue. He tousled Oikawa’s hair, receiving a slap on the wrist for his efforts. Everyone sat in total silence for a good thirty seconds (Kuroo could actually hear the ticking of his watch) before he finally said, “What the fuck, Tooru?”

Oikawa finally glanced up, adjusting his glasses with one hand. He gestured toward the men sitting across from them lazily, and said, “They’re our escorts,” with an inflection that made Kuroo simultaneously embarrassed and irritated.

“You hired escorts for us?” Kuroo asked in disbelief. He looked the two of them over, taking in their appearances. He had to admit, they were both extraordinarily beautiful, almost feminine. The smaller of the two had dark hair that curled around his temples, and sea green eyes that flitted away when he saw Kuro appraising him. The other was a lanky blond with black rimmed glasses and perfect skin. They appeared to be very comfortable with each other- the blond leaning back against the armrest of the couch with his legs up and the other man basically lying on top of him, but turned on his side. They were both dressed provocatively, as if there was any confusion about their occupations, but it wasn’t until the blond fixed him with mean, piercing eyes of sunlit amber that Kuroo’s jaw dropped.

“You- you- you were at the show!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know that this is the second chapter in a row without any explicit content, but I really love establishing character dynamics in a variety of ways. I promise there will be more, but I hope you enjoy the other story elements in the meantime.
> 
> Kuroo and Bokuto's music is very heavily inspired by 3OH!3 (particularly "Touchin' On My", "Don't Trust Me", and "Starstrukk") and Metro Station's "Shake It" if you were curious!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time publishing anything explicit to this site, so please let me know if you have any constructive criticism. 
> 
> More chapters coming soon (I promise they'll be longer than this one)!


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